


The Ones that get Left Behind

by The_Grodyverse



Series: Ghosts [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Afterlife, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Crying, Eddie and Stan are ghosts, F/M, Ghosts, M/M, Myra and Richie talk, Panic, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Richie's not doing great, RoadTrip!, Sequel, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, but the worst one ever, myra confrontation, not a fix it, stan is still best boy, the turtle is useless, vague allusions to possible self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22863463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Grodyverse/pseuds/The_Grodyverse
Summary: Eddie had sworn to stay by Richie's side as long as whatever power it was kept him in this world, but that doesn't mean he can protect him.He thinks it may be better if he had just ceased to exist at all.Eddie is still a ghost, but he has yet to find any peace.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Series: Ghosts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618951
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	The Ones that get Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure I can justify the existence of this one, except that I like suffering and every tear my fics make someone shed gives me strength, like a sadness vampire. There is like one scene in here I really genuinely wanted to explore and the rest is really just emotional rambling.

Of the many, many ways he had thought about how he might die, drowning seemed particularly unpleasant. How long it would take, the raw panic, the cold burning in your lungs as darkness consumed you, all of these pointed to a very un-peaceful death. It turns out drowning in your own blood is even worse. There is air all around him but he can't get enough of it no matter how hard he tries. The blood is hot and thick, and should be giving his body life. He wants to press the jacket draped over his wound down, keep the blood that isn't currently killing him inside, but his arms are too heavy to even begin to try to lift. Richie had been holding it down while yelling obscenities at the clown that had put the hole in his chest but he was gone, had run over to where the rest of their friends were surrounding what must have been the monster. Eddie wasn't sure, his vision was fading, darkening at the edges. He couldn't breathe at all. He feels a tickle of panic at the back of his mind as it tries to hold onto life. You're dying,  _ dying, do something.  _ He wishes he wasn't alone, wants to stay long enough for his friends to come back. Richie will come back. Richie always…

  
  


He is afraid.

  
  


Eddie jolts forward in the passenger seat of Richie's rental car, being vibrating with anxiety. Next to him Richie doesn't react, staring ahead at the road. After practice Eddie had gotten to a point he could relax his mind and go into a state very close to sleep. Apparently this also included dreams or….memories. He feels a soft pressure on his shoulder. 

"Are you okay?" Stan has that face that seems to say he already knows the answer. 

"Yeah man." He stops, pressing his thumbs to his closed eyes, realizing he has no idea why he's lying. "No I…I remembered dying." Stan squeezes his shoulder. " Fuck." He bends over so his head is hanging between his legs trying to ward off the panic rumbling in his chest. After a couple minutes he sits up, looking back at his companion. "Were you...were you scared when it happened?" He swallows "When you could feel...when you knew it was-"

"Yes." Stan says. "Even though I had made my choice, that moment when I could feel my body give up, when I knew there was no going back...I've never been more afraid. Even with  _ It. _ " 

"Shit." Eddie spat. "I was alone. I wish I hadn't been alone. I… I know the others were killing that fucking clown. I know it's selfish but I...I wish they had been with me-" his voice breaks and he clenches his jaw shut in guilt.

"I know." Stan says gently, and Eddie feels some of the weight immediately lift off his chest. 

"This sounds super messed up but…I'm glad you're with me Stan." Eddie cringes slightly as he says it. Stan chuckles and Eddie thinks this might be the first time he has heard adult Stan laugh. 

"I understand what you mean...I'm glad I'm with you too."

"Glad I got shishkabobed by Pennydick Stan?" Stan gives him  _ the look  _ that he remembers so clearly from their childhood and almost bursts out laughing until he turns to Richie to point it out to him and remembers he can't see or hear them. He sobers up fast. 

Richie is staring out the windshield with a determined concentration, hands gripping the steering wheel. He had been the same for their entire road trip so far, giving off a strong vibe of barely holding it together. Eddie couldn’t blame him. They were currently on their way to the shitty suburbs outside of New York City where he had lived a big chunk of his shitty adult life. Eddie had spent a lot of time purposefully not thinking about this to prevent the gnawing pit of anxiety from consuming his entire body. He was sure he had never been in a state of mind quite like this before, how could he have? He was a ghost, sitting next to a man who had been willing to  _ die  _ with him without hesitation on his way to see his wife of ten years who wouldn’t even be in the same room as him when he caught a cold. A man who he had only remembered a few days ago as one of the six missing puzzle pieces in his life. A man he had known was in love with him for an even shorter amount of time. His phantom heart would pick up its rhythm when he thought of it. He couldn’t remember if he had ever had that stupid teenage reaction to knowing someone had feelings for him before. With Myra he just remembered…..resignation. It would be embarrassing if he could bring himself to care anymore. He concentrated and placed his hand on Richie’s thigh. It had become a habit now that he was pretty sure he could actually touch him without phasing through. Richie never reacted but Eddie could feel the life radiating off him in warm waves and it was comforting. He can’t really tell how long the silence lasts before he speaks up again.

“You know what I’m really pissed about?”

“What?” Stan says and it’s clear in his voice there could be a million answers.

“I can’t fucking  _ eat  _ anymore.” Eddie says, exasperated “I spent like two decades eating  _ shit  _ Stan. I thought I was allergic or intolerant to EVERYTHING good. Do you know how many baked goods I didn’t eat over the years??” Making an effort at levity felt a little strange in their situation, but somehow also right “And now I know it was all bullshit but I’m fucking dead and I can’t eat anything even if I wanted to!” Stan is nodding, a strange mischievous looking coming over his face. He glances at Richie and then back at Eddie.

“So was that a metaphor for something or…?” Eddie’s jaw drops open. How had he forgotten how scathing this man could be? Forget Richie, or Bev, or even himself, Stan the man could roast you in ways you didn’t even know about. 

“Holy shit Stan I’m talking about fucking cookies and shit what the fuck!” Stan is laughing fully and Eddie’s heart aches. He wishes everyone could have heard grown up Stan’s laugh.

  
  


Eddie gives a little yell when they vier suddenly into a hotel parking lot, it was NOT a shriek do not chuckle like that Stan. After he calms down he questions  _ why  _ Richie had cut across two lanes of traffic to stop at a hotel. They had only been driving for about four hours, and Eddie knew for sure they could make the trip to the city within a day, but as he watched Richie’s slightly trembling hands he started to think time might not be why they had stopped. He couldn’t lie, the thought of the upcoming meeting with Myra made him feel ill, and he didn’t even have to speak to her. Richie gets through the awkward check in, only sighing slightly when one of the clerks does a double take at him. Eddie follows him to his room, jumping when Stan is already in there, just standing casually next to the bed. He was much better at ghost physics than Eddie, who kept trying to do things like push open doors. Richie throws his bag down and B-lines it to the mini fridge, emptying it completely. Eddie has to force his urge to chastise him back down. He drops the little bottles on the nightstand and falls onto the rickety bed, immediately opening and downing some vodka in one gulp. He grabs another immediately. Sighing Eddie gets on the bed too, lying on his side and just watching the other man. His body didn’t make the mattress shift, it didn’t even make a creak. It was still hard to get used to. 

“You better not drink yourself to death, jackass. I’ll be so fucking pissed.” he whispers. He’s torn between wanting to smack the drinks out of his hand and a disturbing feeling of understanding. Stan sits in the hotel chair next to them, he says nothing but there is a worried look on his face. Richie has gone through about four bottles when his phone rings, blaring an obnoxious ringtone. All three men simply stare at it for a few long seconds before Richie picks it up, jaw clenching when he reads the ID. He hits the screen violently to answer. 

“Hello?” the person on the other side only gets a few words out before Richie sighs, hits the speaker button and lets the phone drop onto the bed. He reaches for another drink. 

“-you been?? I tell people you’ll be back by a certain date and then you just aren’t! I couldn’t even get ahold of you for days, most agents at least get a paparazzi photo or something when their clients go MIA! I almost started telling people you were dead because it was less embarrassing-” 

“Something came up.” Richie interrupts. 

“Something  _ came up?? _ ” the man repeats “Did you go on a cocaine bender with those old friends of yours? Was this reunion just a front, are you even in Maine?!”

“I’m on my way to New York now.” Richie grits out.

“New York?! What the fuck is there? I’ll tell you what’s not, any of your fucking  _ gigs  _ for the next month. You know, those things you do to make money? So  _ I _ can make money?? No one cares how many 12-year-olds like you if you can keep your bookings man. You have dates in  _ Reno-” _

“Fuck Reno!!” Richie suddenly snaps, chucking his newest bottle against the wall “You listen to me Steve, I know you think you’re fucking helping right now but I’m not coming back until I finish what I need to do here, so until your checks stop clearing why don’t you do your fucking job and manage, huh? Take care of whatever assholes I’m booked with and if they say they’ll never work with me again or what the fuck ever I don’t give a shit, okay?!” There are several painful beats of silence.

“Rich buddy...you okay there? You sound like shit.”

“No.” Richie says jabbing the end call button. It only takes a few seconds for the phone to start ringing again. There are four calls and just as many shots before Richie picks up again. 

“Rich, Bud, what happened? Just tell me so I can let everyone know, they’ll understand this is showbiz man, they’ll have heard worse.” his voice gets more sympathetic “Is someone sick, one of your old friends? Did someone  _ die _ -” Richie chucks the phone across the room, not even flinching when it smashes against the wall. 

“Richie!” Eddie yells, jumping up to check on it “For fucks sake!” The phone is cracked, but still on “You’re lucky this isn’t dead what the hell-” Richie sweeps his hand around the nightstand, trying to find some unopened liquor. There is only one left and he downs it before lying down and throwing his arm over his eyes, breathing becoming quick and ragged. Stan leans over and gently places his hand on his rapidly heaving chest. Eddie gets up, forgetting the phone, and joins them, his own hand resting on Richie’s arm. They stay like that until his breathing evens out and he passes into unconsciousness. 

* * *

They had been sitting vigil over Richie for some time, maybe hours, when he speaks up.

“I’ve been thinking.” Stan’s eyes meet his “Mike is free now, he has a new purpose, finally gets to see all those places he wanted. Bill has a wife. Bev and Ben have each other now. Who does Richie have?” He gives a sigh “Of course the other four will look out for him but...who’s going to  _ be  _ with him every day? Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, isn’t alone? Who’s going to wake him up when he has nightmares about that fucking clown?!” Stan’s jaw is clenching, it is clear he has no answers for Eddie. “Does he have a new best friend to look after him? Any other real friends? Did any of us??” He looks over at the graveyard of tiny liquor bottles “He’s not okay Stan and I  _ can’t help him-!” _ He curls into himself, lungs doing a perfect imitation of his old asthmatic wheezing. Stan reaches over and grips his hand firmly. 

“I can’t tell you everything will be alright.” He says, voice on the edge of trembling. “But we have to believe in them all. In Bev, and Ben, and Bill, and Mike. That they’ll watch out for him, for each other. Believe in Richie and how strong he is. Our bond killed an immortal evil alien and it won’t ever be broken again, that I swear.”

“Thanks Stan” Eddie whispers after a few moments, squeezing his hand back “I just wish….” he looks at Richie’s face, almost deceptively peaceful in his sleep. 

“I know.” And Eddie believes he does. 

* * *

Richie misses checkout, barely able to stumble out of bed at 1 pm. He winds up having to pay for another night but doesn’t stick around, dragging himself out to his car after several advil. He sits there breathing in through his nose and out his mouth for several minutes, eyes closed in concentration. Eddie can’t help but wonder if he remembers learning the technique from him, he would often do it during his (probably not actually asthma) attacks. Finally Richie puts the key in the ignition and it feels like his anxiety is actually physically gnawing at him. Four hours until they reach the city. For a moment he tries to let his mind slip into limbo until the memory of lying on a cave floor, life seeping out, slams into him. He recoils violently, as if he can physically escape the feeling. He makes a strangled noise and Stan's hands are immediately on his shoulders. 

“Eddie?”

“I can’t….I can’t feel dying again Stan. I can’t do it. But I d-don’t know h-how to stop it from happening. I just want to  _ rest,  _ can’t I do that? Isn’t….isn’t that what we’re supposed to be able to fucking  _ do  _ now that we’re fucking dead?! I’m still just as fucking  _ scared-! _ ” 

“Come sit back here with me.” Stan says softly. Eddie hesitates and then does, awkwardly crawling past Richie. Once back there Stan takes his hand gently. 

“I spent most of my life afraid. I think maybe you did too.” Eddie feels like crying out of frustration “I can’t promise you won’t see your death again. I don’t know how many times I’ve been through mine. But we have each other and that makes us strong. Concentrate on me. On Richie.” He gestures to the man that has finally pulled out of the parking lot “And don’t be afraid.” He gives his hand a squeeze. Eddie looks him in the eyes, concerned and soft. He trusts Stan, more than anything. He lets their faux breathing sync up, closing his eyes. Cautiously he lets his mind go.

* * *

He is floating. He has a vague sense of being, as if he still has a body but it is completely weightless. The darkness around him seems as if it should be cold, but every nerve of his is surrounded by a comforting warmth, like floating in bath water. Lights are starting to flicker on all around him, blinking to life one at a time. Stars, he realizes. They begin to swirl together into galaxies and nebulas, other colors appearing. It’s beautiful and he feels for the first time in a long time a sense of peace. He basks in it for several moments, letting the starlight swirl around him. Suddenly a feeling comes over him, a feeling that something massive, in size and importance, is beside him. He looks to his right and sees a shape in the distance, gigantic and smooth, curved with a symmetry normally only found in living creatures. He stares at it for a long time until it becomes clear to him. A shell, bigger than anything he had ever seen in life. It looks just like the shells of the turtles they would find in the quarry when they were kids. He is overcome with awe at the thought of what creature would live inside such a shell when a realization sweeps over him. It is empty.

* * *

He jolts awake, glancing around blearily. He is leaning against Stan, and when he looks up he sees the other man is staring straight ahead, looking as confused as he feels. Somehow he feels more relaxed than he has in a long time despite the strangeness he just saw. 

“Hey” He starts to question “did you see-?” his calm is gone immediately as he spots the city skyline passing outside the window “ah, fuck.” Awkwardly he scrambles his way up to the front of the car to check on Richie. He is ashen, practically jumping every time the GPS gives another instruction. 

“You look like fucking shit man.” Eddie swallows painfully, trying to push down the burning feeling in his throat “But I feel like fucking shit too so….” He reaches up and places his hand on the side of Richie’s face, thumb resting against his cheekbone. He can almost feel the scratch of his stubble. “You shouldn’t have to do this, but you had to volunteer like an idiot.” He smiles just a bit. He had realized quickly that even like this being serious with Richie all of the time felt wrong. Holding himself back from the one-sided banter and causal insults had somehow made him feel worse. A reminder that nothing will ever really be the same. They pull into a gas station mere minutes from his house in the suburbs and Eddie has to literally close his eyes and count to ten while breathing out to stop himself from uselessly yelling at Richie when he gets back in the car with a 5th of Jack. He is at least slightly proud that he waits to drink it until they are parked outside his house. Eddie stares at the front of the house like it’s Pennywise’s lair all over again. He almost thinks he would rather fight the clown again than go in there. Almost. Richie finishes gulping the alcohol loudly before shoving his way out of the car.Eddie’s suitcases are sitting in the trunk ready to be returned, though a few sweatshirts were no longer in them, stuffed in the backseat of the car for safe keeping instead. Eddie can see Richie’s whole body shaking as he walks up the driveway. When he reaches the front door he completely freezes. Eddie glances to Stan as seconds pass.5,10,15…..finally Richie raises and trembling fist and knocks. Eddie holds his breath in anticipation as….nothing happens. Richie gives a pained groan and presses the doorbell followed by a few more knocks. Every second waiting for Myra to open the door feels like torture. Finally, FINALLY the handle turns and the door swings open, revealing his wife. She doesn’t look great. A slightly frantic look is on her face, normally straightened hair a bit of a mess and face free of her regular makeup. He feels bad, though it is hard to tell how upset she really is, considering she had almost filed a missing persons report once when he took too long at the store after work. Myra isn’t saying anything, just staring at Richie expectantly. 

“Hi, hey-hello, um,” Richie croaks out “Are you M….Mrs. Kasprak?” his voice pitches up as he forces Eddie’s last name out. 

“Yes, but unless you have something very important I can’t speak to you right now I am very busy.” Myra says quickly, immediately looking at Richie with suspicion. She pauses “Actually, do I know you, have we met?” 

“No...no.” Richie says, still sounding like his voice just barely works. “I’m...I’m an old friend of your husbands. Very old.” Myra’s disposition changes immediately. 

“Eddie? My Eddie??” She questions, voice immediately going into her best worried wife mode. Eddie had heard it many, many times when she was talking to someone else about him and didn’t know he was listening. “Do you know where he is? His plane was supposed to be back, it landed but he wasn’t on it and I haven’t gotten a call even though he  _ promised _ two check up calls a day-!”

“I think we better go inside and sit down.” Eddie is almost positive Richie is about to throw up. He better not do it in Eddie’s fucking house, dead or not. Richie seems to be able to swallow the bile down. He is sweating. Myra breathes out, eyeing him suspiciously. Eddie could just hear the true crime shows she liked to watch running through her head. 

“Alright but you should know I have security cameras in the whole house and I can call the police at the push of a button!” She turns to walk back in, keeping the door open for Richie to follow. He seems to be frozen, unable to move. Eddie takes his wrist.

“You don’t need to do this Rich.” He says “You can leave right now, call the others and tell them they need to do it instead. I won’t be mad, neither will they.” But Richie doesn’t turn to leave, mechanically he lurches his body after Myra instead. He all but falls into the chair opposite where she is now sitting, surrounded by her fancy throw pillows. Eddie stands directly behind Richie, arms crossed like some kind of hired muscle. He wishes he could actually protect Richie from the woman sitting across from him. Probably not the best way to think about the person about to learn she was his widow.

"Well?" Said woman demands "Where is my Eddie?"

"Eds...Eddie. He-" Richie barely gets words out before stopping. He sighs and starts over slowly. "Eddie told you he was going to meet some old friends in our hometown?"

"Yes." Myra answers stiffly.

"I don't know if he told you about Derry, our hometown-" he paused "No wait shit, he couldn't have. God. Anyway. Our hometown...it's super fucked up." Eddie was pretty sure Richie didn't notice how Myra tensed her body just a little more every time he swore. A memory suddenly hits him of a time when he had paused his channel surfing on a special on Comedy Central. He has sat there frowning, unable to change the channel as he stared at the comedian on the screen. That was until Myra had come in and interrupted. 

"Eddie change the channel! I hate vulgar comedians like that. You are too sophisticated for that kind of thing!"

That memory sure felt different now.

"When we were kids there was this bully. A real dickhead you know? Well turns out torturing us over the summer wasn't nearly the worst thing he did. He fucking stabbed his dad in the neck, he was this cop, just fucking killed him one day. That summer a whole bunch of kids went missing. Well, missing sounds like they weren't found, they were they were all fucking dead. Henry fucking Bowers tried to kill us too, but we got lucky." Richie was barging ahead like a freight train, unaware of Myra's increasing horror, as if he paused he would completely break down and be unable to speak. "So yeah we had a serial killer in our hometown when we were 13, Eds probably wouldn't want to mention that to you huh? He was locked up in a mental hospital, a complete nutcase. He stayed there in bumfuck Maine for 27 years. We had all agreed to meet up-there were seven of us, we called ourselves the losers club, cute right? We promised to come back and have a reunion. Celebrate not being fucking murdered. Swore it, we had this kinda blood oath, dramatic right? Eds-"

"My  _ Eddie _ never mentioned any of this! Or you!" Myra interrupts. Richie freezes and for a moment Eddie is sure he's going to break. Instead he clenched his fists and charges on. 

"No, ah, no he probably wouldn't-"

"Eddie tells me  _ everything-" _ Eddie wants to laugh at the absurdity of the statement.

"It was pretty traumatizing so he probably didn't want to worry you" Richie continues as if she hadn't spoken "But that's where we all were, at this reunion in our shitty hometown. You know just catching up but-" he swallows "it was just ….bad luck. A crazy chance. Who could have known? After almost 30 years that psycho bastard broke out. Bowers. And he remembered us. Just shit luck you know? How the fuck could we have known?" His voice breaks then, body starting to shake. Myra is staring, frozen.

"We used to explore in the sewers as kids. Dumb huh? Eddie hated it. The sewers and this fucking run down crackhead house, it wasn't safe at all but kids are stupid. But we were checking out our old haunts, just reminiscing, you know? This guy, Henry Bowers, he found us, we got separated. Some of us wound up cornered in that fucking falling down shack. Eddie, he was so fucking brave, he pulled a god dammned knife out of himself and stabbed the fucker." At the implication of that sentence Myra's face twists in horror, mouth dropping open slightly. Eddie, ridiculously, embarrassingly, feels his face heat up with what must be a blush at Richie's praise. The hell. "It didn't take him down but Eds fucking tried. He saved my life. God, I'm so sorry." Richie breaks off for a second, taking several shallow breaths.

"What-" Myra is shaking slightly now "What are you saying?" 

"I'm sorry." Richie repeats, and to Eddie's horror he sees tears rapidly filling his eyes, unable to be held back anymore. "Eddie….Eddie he's gone." 

"What?" Myra says "What are you- where is my husband??"

"Eddie is  _ dead,  _ he's  _ gone-"  _ Richie chokes out. Myra doesn't crumple or cry, in fact she looks angry.

"What-that...makes no sense! If Eddie is dead why are you telling me?? Why are the police not here, or a call from the hospital!!" Her voice is getting rapidly louder and higher pitched, face becoming blotchy red. "If my husband is dead where is his body?!" Richie is spiraling properly Into panic now, chest expanding and collapsing rapidly, shallowly. 

"T-there's no body-the house it- Eddie was always talking a-about building codes- but it collapsed, there was a sinkhole, he...he was already gone when- we couldn't get him out-" Eddie can see Richie being ripped away from his body, flailing, and he shudders. Myra's indignation has not given way to grief. 

"So I'm to believe you and a bunch of people my husband NEVER mentioned were attacked by serial killer in a town he never mentioned and instead of contacting the proper authorities my Eddie went into a  _ condemned  _ house and was injured and you supposed best friends of his left him to be killed! Did any of you even think to check a pulse, were any of you trained medical professionals?!" She yelled.

"I'm sorry." Richie chants like a prayer, tears flowing "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Myra swings suddenly to hysterics, perhaps Richie's sincerity finally hitting her, and she let out a wail. 

"Oh my god Eddie, my Eddie!" She covers her face and shakes her head in what feels like a theatrical imitation of grief. "How could this happen-how could you let this happen!" Richie looks like he's about to genuinely dry heave on the carpet.

" _ I'm sorry- _ "

" Don't tell me you're sorry!! You have no idea how I feel, how could you?!" Eddie feels a bolt of anger go through his heart like an arrow. "You barely knew him, he was MY husband!!" Eddie had become the past tense incredibly quickly. The rage is spreading through his chest now. Richie's mouth is open as he struggles for air, tears running and he glances around helplessly like a lost child.

"No-"

"How could you let this happen," she repeats "You knew how fragile he was!!" Richie freezes, complete silence taking over for a moment before he leaps up suddenly, crowding into Myra's space. She scrambles back into the cushions, alarmed. 

"He wasn't fucking fragile!!" He roars "Eddie was never fucking fragile, but you and his bitch of a mother made him think he was his whole life!!" 

" Sonia was a great woman-!"

"Shut up." Richie grows, looming over her intimidatingly "Shut the fuck up. You made him think he was sick and weak and how many things didn't he get to do because of it? His bullshit allergies and asthma and God knows what the fuck else. Eddie was strong, and smart and so fucking  _ brave.  _ He died saving my  _ life _ , don't fucking bother saying it should have been me instead, believe me I know, I wish he had let me die instead every second I fucking breathe. He was fucking tiny but vicious and he would help people even when he was scared and I loved him-!!" Myra visibly recoils as the air seems to leave the room. Richie breathes in a great shuddering breath and somehow Eddie knows this is the first time he has said it out loud. The words punch through him like a shock of radiation, a sense of utter despair sinking past his heart and bones into the very atoms that make up his being. After all he had seen a world this cruel still had not seemed possible. "I loved him." Richie repeats " And you were married to him but you never knew him, not for one fucking day." 

"I'm calling the police." Myra blurts "I'm going to find out what really happened to my husband and I'm going to make sure you all get charged with neglectful homicide!"

"Fuck you." Richie says, spinning to stomp out of the house. Eddie watches, not even registering that he can and should follow until Stan's arms are around him again.

"Come on Eddie." He whispers, curls gently pressing against his temple. 

* * *

Richie finally really does puke once he gets out to the car. He stumbles into the driver's seat, peeling out of the driveway and nearly hitting more than one parked car on the way out. He only makes it a couple blocks before he pulls over, crooked and half on the curb. He leans over the steering wheel, taking deep breaths at an alarming speed. This time Eddie can't bring himself to touch him, too numb in his own grief. He doesn't want to keep existing like this, pretending if he tries hard enough he can make it all stop. He lets himself sink down into the darkness around the edges of his vision, mind spiraling like water in a drain, going down to join the sewers. 

"I'm sorry Eds." He is jerked out of his own mind when Richie suddenly addresses him. He's leaning back now, staring at the car roof. In the light Eddie can see the tear tracks drying on his cheeks. "I really fucked that up bad, huh?" Eddie stares at him, blinking slowly. No, that wasn't true, wasn't right. "Aw fuck," Richie continues, dragging his hands down his face "I didn't even give her your  _ fucking  _ stuff back-" A disgustingly cheery jingle cuts through the air, and Richie has to try three times before he hits the 'answer call' button. 

"Big Bill." He says shakily. Eddie can hear Bill Talking on the other side, watching Richie try to take a calming breath. A couple more tears leak out of the corners of his eyes "Yeah, no I….I think I may have really fucked up here, Bill." He gives out a short laugh "You were right, of course you were. I shouldn't have tried to do this. I should have known I couldn't- couldn't be trusted with anything important like this. When have I ever-" he stops, hunching as Bill's voice gets a little louder and faster. "Do you have some good lawyers Bill? I've never really used mine, shockingly. Except to tell people they couldn't actually sue me for sucking." He tries to joke. Eddie is suddenly genuinely worried that a police cruiser would turn the corner, he did not think Myra had been bluffing. "I'm sorry Bill, I'm fucking  _ sorry-"  _ Bill is talking fast on the other end, probably trying to reassure Richie and figure out what exactly happened at the same time. Richie gives one word answers to help him slowly, painfully piece it together. "Don't worry Bill." Richie says at one point "I'll take the fall for everyone." He laughs almost hysterically before seeming to forget how to breathe and having to be talked down. Eddie is vibrating with anxiety now, thinking of nothing but '  _ you need to get the fuck out of here, what if the police are really coming right now do you think you can really survive being interrogated about where my body is for hours on end??'  _ He feels like the lookout in a herd of animals, ears pricked painfully for the sound of predators. Richie has gone silent on his end, half listening to Bill's constant talk. There is a long pause where he blinks and takes a deep breath. 

"It should have been me Bill." He says finally, clearly not responding to whatever Bill had said last "No, no  _ listen. it should have been me."  _ He runs his hand halfway through his hair before gripping and pulling "This wouldn't happen if I was gone, no fucking _ wife _ to ask questions. No one would have to do the fucking army man at the door to inform the next of kin. You're going to tell me the world wouldn't be better off with one less shit comedian? The people who actually write the jokes would still be around!! I'd be a fun story for tabloids for a year, which drug or undiagnosed mental illness made D-list celebrity Richie Trashmouth Tozier diss-a-fucking-pear into thin air?" He barks out a laugh. "So don't  _ fucking  _ tell me no Richie it wouldn't have been better if Eddie lived instead, he didn't have a real life, and a fucking possessive wife and maybe actually could have contributed to society after all of this. My dumb ass mouthed off to a demon and I got caught in those fucking lights and Eds… he should have let the damn thing eat me maybe then he'd still be here like he should be… instead- instead of  _ me- useless fucking Trashmouth me-"  _ He cuts off both because a sob forces its way out of his throat and because Bill is now  _ yelling _ on the other side of the phone. "No…" Richie gets out mechanically "No. I won't. I know. I won't I…. Promise." He hangs his head as his friend keeps talking. "Before the end of the day….. Yeah I'll send it when I get it… of course…. I-I'll see you soon Billy." He pauses for a moment "You too. Bye." The silence in the car after the call ends feels like a physical monster looming over all of them, glaring at each in turn. 

"Eddie." He starts when Stan says his name, he had almost forgotten about the other man. He turns to look at him, but Stan says nothing more, just looking at him gently, questioningly. Eddie considers him for a moment. 

"You should go be with your wife." He says firmly. Stan's mouth drops open slightly, but he says nothing "Unless it is too painful...but I have a feeling you want to watch over her.." He raises his eyebrows as if to say 'right?'. Stan gazes at him with misty eyes before taking his hand. 

"If you need me with you I'll be there. Always." He says and Eddie nods blinking back his own tears. Stan smiles, lets go of his hand and is gone. Eddie stares at the spot where he was for a minute, rational brain still trying to be surprised. He looks back at Richie who is concentrating very hard trying to do something with his phone. His hands are shaking so badly he keeps hitting the wrong buttons and swearing under his breath. Eddie looks closer and realizes he's booking an airline ticket. He can't help but notice he puts the number of checked bags as three. Richie had arrived at the townhouse with only one small suitcase and a duffle bag. Eddie sighs slowly. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to be  _ anywhere.  _ Guilt eats him at the thought of abandoning Richie, but he can't drum up the will to stay, not that he has much of a choice. He leans back, closing his eyes and just trying to let go. 

"Sorry Rich."

* * *

He starts back into consciousness standing outside of an airport. He looks around, startled. Above him palm trees are looming, he's definitely not in New England. Panic suddenly bursts in his chest. Where is Richie?? How long had he left him alone, what if something happened, if had done something stupid? What if he was sitting in a jail cell right now or worse??? God, what was he thinking, trying to go. His gaze meets a familiar face and he halts. Bill is leaning against a ridiculous sports car, and for a moment the bone deep relief that seeing the leader of their little group had given him since he was a kid is there. Panic quickly replaces it. What if he had switched to Bill because something had happened to Richie. What if Bill was waiting for someone who would never arrive? He glances to his right and left, almost expecting ghost Richie to walk up and start talking to him. A feeling stirs in his gut at the thought and he is immediately disgusted with himself. 

"Bill." Richie is walking towards them and Eddie can feel himself getting lighter with relief. He has Eddie's suitcases with him. Bill doesn't mention it. 

"Richie," he does say "I'm glad you're here." Richie gives a small smile in reply before all but collapsing into Bill, burying himself in his smaller body. Bill holds him hard, as if he can anchor him if he just uses enough strength.

"You should have left me in that sewer." Richie chokes out, body shaking with the effort of holding it together in public. "You should have left me with him." Bill doesn't say anything, even as his jaw clenches and nostrils flare.after a few slow moments he speaks

" Let's go Rich." 

* * *

Richie had managed to convince Bill he was alright to be alone in the guest room for the night. He had been given a couple sleeping pills, but Bill had vigilantly made sure he didn't mix them with alcohol. Now Richie is sitting up against the headboard, slumped and still. He is staring ahead at the wall,eyes slowly leaking tears like a perverse fountain. He doesn't even bother to wipe them away,and Eddie almost misses the screaming. He has been sitting next to him trying to sort out an urge he has. He isn't quite sure what it is, only that there is an inkling in the back of his mind he should resist it, even like this. Even dead. Eddie sighs, pushes the thought away and lets his body move. He crawls, slightly clumsily, into Richie's lap. He sits there sideways, head resting on his shoulder. He is stiff, feeling slightly wrong even now. The last time he was like this was probably with his mother when he was small. Small enough that it was okay for him to cuddle, to need comfort. His mother had held on too hard, too long even after he tried to wiggle away, she tried to keep him little. He had grown up anyway though, and effeminate mama's boys didn't have the luxury of needing affection. They had to shove down anything that didn't prove how aggressively, normally masculine they were despite appearances. Not deviant. Not weak. 

What a load of bullshit. He relaxes into Richie's body as much as he can. That is the kind of shit thinking that lead him to marry Myra, to hold every person in his life at arm's length, like they were just vectors for the diseases he hated so much. The thinking that probably kept Richie hidden so deep inside himself all these years, ashamed. He looks back up at his face. The tears are drying slightly now, his eyes half lidded as if the drugs are beginning to hit him. Eddie has another impulse, only hesitating slightly before following this one through. Leaning up he gently, hesitantly, presses his lips against those of the man whose lap he has melted against. It is not how he hopes it would be if they were both alive, but somehow it still makes him feel more than he ever had with Myra, with anyone. The warmth of Richie feels as if it is at a distance. He feels the softness of his lips the way you feel feathers in your hands, not quite sure if it's real. Even so his ghostly heart picks up a beat like it still has a job to do, steadfast. When he finally pulls back he sees that Richie's eyes are closed, his breathing even and steady. He doesn't want to cry again so distracts himself by leaning his head against his chest, ear right above his real, living heart. It beats on, strong, and brings him the closest thing to peace he will probably ever feel again. He closes his eyes and in the moment does what he hasn't since he was small, he pretends. Pretends he is alive, with Richie, hot blood and flesh and together and in  _ love.  _ It is all he can hope to have. 


End file.
